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Pilot/Story
This page contains the story of Pilot. Pilot It was a crisp autumn day in Manhattan. Trees a mix of green and orange. A light drizzle had let up just a minute ago. Not that this stopped the city, nor did it stop a certain dog in his apartment. The dog was short and stout, his ears were black and he had freckles the same color. He wore a red sweater and glasses and contently played a standing bass, singing softly in New York accent. “Lookin’ for The Beagles… lookin’ high and low…” he sighed, stopping his playing, speaking hurriedly, “High is for the eagles, low is all the Beagles kno-ow… ridin’ on a busted bubble to wherever there’s some trouble, that’s where the Beagles go.” He blew a raspberry, setting his bass against a wall, walking over to a coffee table to look at sheet music. He sat on the couch just beside it and started editing notes. “Sounds much better in Stringer’s voice,” he muttered, leaning back and rereading. Almost as if the name had summoned him, the door clicked open and a much taller dog walked in excitedly. He looked alot like his partner, his muzzle a much lighter color, no freckles, no glasses, ears bent backward, wearing a green sweater and a damp leather jacket. “Tubby!” he said loudly. “What’s got you all excited?” “Well,” he closed the door and promptly plopped down next to Tubby, “At work, someone was reading the paper and I saw three separate ads for talent agencies!” “Oh?” “Yeah!” he clapped his hands excitedly, “This might be our lucky break!” Tubby shrugged, setting the papers back down, “I mean, all we’re wasting is our time, right?” Stringer sighed jokingly, “And here I was trying to be positive about it.” Tubby chuckled, “No, I’m glad, but we might not get signed on.” Stringer shrugged, standing, “Never know if we don’t go.” Tubby tilted his head, smiling. (...) They found the building fairly quickly, with the help of Stringer’s memory of its name and a map app. It was taller than the average house, yet much shorter than a skyscraper. Record Records was painted neatly on a dark glass door. Tubby squeezed Stringer’s hand as if to ask for approval. Stringer nodded, so they walked in, Tubby’s instrument in its case in hand and Stringer’s across his back. They stopped holding hands immediately, yet still stood close enough to make sure it was noted they were musical partners. “Hi, we’re here to answer an ad?” Stringer muttered softly, as he walked up to the front desk, trying to hide his shaking voice. The lady at the desk nodded, then scribbled a room number and name on a piece of paper in just-legible cursive. 321, Soundstopper. Stringer and Tubby looked at eachother, quickly thanking her and walking off toward an elevator. “I don't know if I trust someone named Soundstopper,” Tubby said quietly. Stringer just shrugged in response. Getting off the elevator, the two walked down the hall until they found the proper room number. A dry-erase board had “Come In” written on it in aggressive print. Stringer and Tubby stepped in just as Soundstopper got off a phone call. He was an old white man in a maroon suit, balding. He looked up at Stringer and Tubby. “Two dogs,” he muttered to himself, though the two overheard, “What’s this city coming to?” He then raised his voice to obviously address them, “I assume you're the two the desk clerk told me about?” “Sure are,” Tubby responded, voice full of bitterness. “Well, you got a song to sing,” he made a hand movement toward them, “Start.” They quickly unpacked their instruments, not expecting such quickness. Soundstopper scoffed when he saw Tubby’s. Tubby just gave a breath of contempt in response. Stringer played the first notes, Tubby quickly joining. Then Stringer started singing. “Lookin’ for the Beagles, lookin’ high and low, high is for the eagles, low is all the Beagle’s kno-ow! ” He made his voice a bit higher, Tubby quietly joining, “Ridin’ on a busted bubble to wherever there’s some trouble! That’s where the Beagles go!” They continued playing in anticipation for the first verse, but Soundstopper cut them off before they could. “Very self-deprecating. And very bubblegum. Not good. Get outta my office.” Stringer and Tubby just blinked in disbelief, and after a moment just re-placed their instruments and left. Once outside, Stringer started to find out the directions to the second place, Smash Records. Meanwhile, Tubby was agitated. “Even if he liked the song I wouldn’t take him as an agent anyway. You heard him, about us being dogs and oh what is this city coming to!” anger edged his voice as he repeated that. “Yeeahhh…” Stringer muttered. “And bubblegum… number one bubblegum is a great genre, number two I don't think I’d consider our song bubblegum.” “I would. Sugar Sugar is bubblegum-” “Uh yeah, I would hope so!” said Tubby jokingly. Stringer went on without acknowledgment, “And that is up in my favorite songs.” Tubby shrugged in agreement, “Now that you say it I can certainly see the similarities between us and The Archies.” When they reached Smash Records, it wasn't much different. Bubblegum hatred and mild hatred of their doginess. They stepped out with Tubby discouraged. “We’ve still got one more place!” Stringer tried to console him, grabbing his hand, “Broken Records!” “Stringer, if we sign for a place called Broken Records I have no doubts a record will be the only thing of ours broken.” “I hear it's very good!” “I’m not getting my hopes up!” (...) Broken Records had indeed broken their spirits. Both walked out saddened by this, but before they could leave a gray terrier in a blue suit and yellow hat came running up to them. “Hey, wait!” He gasped, Scottish accent strong. He caught his breath, mustache moving like it was in a heavy breeze from his gasping, “I heard your music from my office,” he started, “and I heard my boss dismissing you, but I thought that it was great and I’d love to sign on you!” Stringer and Tubby’s eyes shone. “That’s… amazing to hear!” Stringer said, “We’ve been to two other places today that dismissed us too!” The terrier laughed, “I guess this is your lucky break!” He then reached out a hand. Stringer accepted. “I'm Scotty Affen.” “Stringer Spaniel.” Scotty then reached to shake Tubby’s hand. “Tubby Beagle.” Scotty nodded, making a motion for them to follow him. “Now let’s make a contract. I have the feeling this will be a great relationship- you’ll be on the charts in no time!” He turned to look at them, Stringer and Tubby just ecstatically smiling. Category:Rewrite Category:Stories